


still are there wonders of the dark and day

by blackkat



Series: TobiZabu Drabbles [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fae & Fairies, Families of Choice, Humor, M/M, Romance, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 12:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Zabuza meets a stranger in the library, a man who knows too much and says too little. It's just slightly possible that Zabuza is in over his head and doesn't even know it yet.





	still are there wonders of the dark and day

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Tobirama as the library cryptid that seems to always be there at the gloomy corners with always a different book each time you see him and then meets this kid that seems to have all these obscure interests and knowledge who manages to befriend him...then he meets Zabuza, the father, and then goes ah yes you seem worthy enough to be my lover (guess you could also make him a fae maybe?)

“You know,” the librarian says without looking up, “if you leave him here for too long, the ghost might get him.”

Zabuza stops short, eyeing the woman warily. A quick glance over the library doesn’t reveal any sign of Haku among the closest stacks, which is probably predictable; Zabuza’s pretty sure he’s read everything on this floor at least once already. It also means, however, that no immediate rescue is coming. 

“Ghost?” he echoes, and can't quite manage to keep the dubious note out of his voice.

The redhead—Haku probably mentioned her name at some point, but fuck if Zabuza can remember it right now—lifts her head at last, and she’s smirking. She points to a neat, hand-lettered sign on the wall next to the wide staircase, which bears the words _Do not feed ghost, he gets grumpy_ in perfectly formed script. 

_…Right,_ Zabuza thinks. A running gag. Probably some kind of in-joke. It can't be that interesting, manning a reference desk for hours at a time. “Haku's seen Ghostbusters,” he says dryly. “I think he’ll be fine.”

The woman laughs, and the curl of her smile is something wicked. “Just a reminder,” she says, and goes back to her book. 

It’s possible that Zabuza mildly regrets telling Haku to walk down here after school, even though it’s at a convenient midway point to his new job. The library closer to their apartment definitely doesn’t have a ghost in residence. 

Still. Zabuza leaves early and gets home late, and his chances to actually spend time with Haku are scattered. Taking the train home together is one of the few reliable times, and Zabuza isn't about to skip it just because the librarian’s got some crossed wires. 

Besides, if there was a ghost around, Haku would have mentioned it. 

With a quick glance at the door to check that there’s no one Zabuza would recognize approaching, he slips past the reference desk and up the staircase, keeping his footfalls light on the marble. There’s too much space in here, and it makes him itch, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. At least in close quarters there are fewer lines of sight, but here, in the middle of the stacks, with open air and light all around him, Zabuza is just _asking_ for a sniper’s bullet. Or a hex, if someone’s feeling creative. 

Thankfully, the second floor of the library is tighter quarters, separate rooms without the high glass doors of the ground floor. Zabuza pauses at the top of the steps, trying to remember what Haku’s interest is this week, but there’s rarely any saying. Even if he’s interested in something when they leave the apartment, he’s likely to pick up something new he wants to know about by the time he gets here. 

Zabuza is tired, and his feet hurt. There’s a deep ache in one shoulder where a guy who didn’t want to repay the loan Gato gave him stabbed him in the shoulder, and Zabuza just wants to go home and eat something greasy and then sleep for a solid ten hours. He doesn’t have any desire to play hide-and-seek in the stacks. 

Still, something keeps him from raising his voice and calling for Haku. The hush of the library is stark, even though it’s bright, and Zabuza knows enough to respect the tradition of such places. Not all the energy here is friendly, even if the place is nominally public, nominally helpful. It’s in a different way than most, here, and Zabuza can’t help but compare it to the old, rather worn library closer to their apartment. That one feels warm, restful; this library, gilt and glass and marble, is a cool and watchful thing. 

Haku’s last reading binge was biographies, but he’s not in that room when Zabuza checks. Isn’t in the horticulture section, where’s he’s taken to mentoring one of the loudmouthed little kids who comes on certain days. Isn’t by the nonfiction, and hasn’t put his name down on the list to enter the rare book room. Zabuza frowns a little to himself as he pauses, glancing around, and wonders—

But no. Haku’s smart, and his tether is still calm, steady where it’s curled into the edges of Zabuza’s skin. If he was in trouble, he would have let Zabuza know immediately, and if the tether were interrupted or cut, Zabuza would have felt it. So Haku is somewhere in the building, just—hidden away. 

Teenage angst, maybe, Zabuza thinks. He’s got a crush on that one boy in his school, so maybe something happened with him and Kimimaro. 

All the rooms on this floor cleared, Zabuza makes for the narrow, wrought iron spiral staircase that leads to the third floor. There are histories up here, if he remembers right, and though Haku tends to keep his reading more to modern things, there’s a chance he decided to branch out. Or it’s just a quiet place where he won’t be disturbed. 

(Or he’s not here at all, and Zabuza is missing something big, something _important_ that he’ll never forgive himself for overlooking.)

One step into the relative dark of the third floor, though, and the sound of voices eases the ember of panic in Zabuza’s chest. He takes a breath, glancing around the small room, and finally spots a familiar bun, bent over a table. There’s a stack of books beside him, and it makes Zabuza smile a little, but he’s also not alone. A tall man is leaning next to him, white-haired and stern-faced, though there’s something soft to the slant of his mouth as he points to something in the book they have spread out in front of them.

Amusement slides in to replace the alarm, and Zabuza makes for them with light steps. Haku’s good at making friends, finding people with similar interests; it’s more than a little bewildering to Zabuza, who can count his friends on one hand with fingers left over and doesn’t care to make more, but clearly Haku is having fun. That stack of books is even higher than his usual, and he looks bright, excited. 

“Hey,” Zabuza says when he gets close enough not to have to raise his voice, and watches with humor as both Haku and the man startle. Haku’s head whips up, and instantly a smile breaks across his face. 

“Zabuza!” he says, and takes two quick steps around the edge of the table, grabbing one of the thicker volumes he’s collected. “I found something new by that author you like.”

With a snort, Zabuza takes it. “I see that’s not all you found,” he says dryly, but flips the book open to look at the inside of the dust jacket. Blinks, then checks the author again, because this is an old book but he’s never been able to find a copy, no matter how many places he’s looked. 

“You found Harusame’s book on the history of blood rituals?” he asks, raising a brow. 

Haku beams. “Tobirama helped me,” he says, and the white-haired man straightens up, looking Zabuza over with assessing eyes. 

“Your son has a wide range of knowledge,” he says, and it’s approving in a way a lot of people aren’t once they catch sight of Zabuza. Zabuza still remembers the near heart attack he gave Haku’s teacher when he turned up to parent meetings, and, while it’s amusing at the start, it always grates. 

There’s none of that in Tobirama’s face, though. Just something that feels as watchful as the library around them and twice as sharp. 

“He’s clever,” Zabuza says, and casts a look at Haku, checking. 

Haku just smiles demurely, eyes bright with a thread of mischief Zabuza has learned to be wary of. “We’ve met before,” he says, glancing back at Tobirama. “But Tobirama was kind enough to show me some new sections I hadn’t gotten to yet.”

Zabuza accepts that, letting himself ease back. Haku’s not shy about reacting when something pisses him off; the three schools he’s been kicked out of for fighting prove that plenty well. If he likes Tobirama, Zabuza can roll with it. 

“Thanks,” he tells Tobirama, collecting Haku’s stack of books and balancing it under one arm. “He gets bored rereading stuff pretty quick.”

Tobirama’s eyes flicker from Zabuza to Haku and back, and a faint smile touches his mouth. “I’m always glad to find someone with a passion for books,” he says, and then pauses. Considers Zabuza, head tipped faintly, and then reaches out. 

Zabuza stiffens as one red-marked hand, pale and long-fingered and slender, curls over his shoulder and tugs him in one step. The stab abruptly _burns,_ even though one of Gato’s healers stuck a charm on it, and Zabuza hisses, tries to jerk back and finds that Tobirama’s grip is entirely immovable. Alarm flares, and he raises a hand—

Tobirama catches his wrist, expression darkening, grip tightening, and there’s a sharp _crack_ that vibrates right down to Zabuza’s bones. He loses his breath on a gasp, staggering back as the pain vanishes, and this time Tobirama lets him go. 

Instantly, Haku is between them, and the temperature in the room drops like an ice storm out of nowhere. Power crackles across his skin, but Zabuza reaches out, grabs him before he can do something that will get the police called on them, and drags Haku back to his side. 

“Easy,” he says, and looks up to find red eyes watching him, a faint, amused tilt to Tobirama’s mouth. 

“You had a curse,” Tobirama says, as if that’s all the explanation that’s needed, and turns. He vanishes around the corner of one of the shelves, and Zabuza takes two long strides after him, ready to demand to know what the hell that was about, and—

He’s gone. There’s no sign of him in the aisle, not sound of footsteps on the tile. Just empty air and a strange, heavy weight that feels like the echo of a voice from far, far away, fading into the darkness. 

“A curse?” Haku asks, quiet, and a hand touches Zabuza’s arm, pulls his attention away from the otherwise empty room. He turns, and Haku’s eyes are on his shoulder, on the spots of blood already seeping through Zabuza’s shirt. 

“Client,” Zabuza says, and grimaces. “I thought the healer was just shit and that’s why it was hurting. Guess he missed something.”

Haku’s frown deepens, but he glances into the stacks, then away. “I’ll cook tonight,” he says, and makes for the stairs. 

“I got paid,” Zabuza says, because he loves Haku, but not enough to eat whatever raw, plant-based, extra healthy concoction he comes up with. “Let’s swing by that Water Country place you like and get something to go.” 

“All right,” Haku says, sounding pleased, and glances at the books Zabuza is still carrying. “That’s the book you were looking for the other day, right?”

“Yeah,” Zabuza says, and tugs at the top of Haku’s bun in silent thanks. “Exactly that one. Nice pick.”

Haku’s smile is a small, pleased thing. “Tobirama showed me where it was,” he says. 

Something wary curls in Zabuza’s chest, and instead of his usual scan of the street as they descend towards the main floor, he glances back. The second floor is empty, as is the spiral staircase, but—

“Tobirama, huh?” he asks pointedly, but Haku just smiles and takes the last three steps in one jump, heading for the main desk. No answers from that quarter, then, but even if Haku wouldn’t try to keep anything dangerous from him, Zabuza feels unsettled. Like he’s under a microscope, almost, or maybe being watched through a sniper’s scope, except nothing so simple. This feeling is something older, colder. But…not quite hostile. 

Zabuza knows better than most that there are magics in the city that don’t come from humans. Knows intimately that some things aren’t human at all, even if they seem it. Haku’s a pretty damned good example of that, but Zabuza’s not about to spill the kid’s personal details. Regardless of how he started life, he’s with Zabuza now, and that’s enough. 

Zabuza won’t press him for his secrets, knowing that.

  
Given Haku’s lively social life, Zabuza drags himself home to an empty apartment a good portion of the time. It’s a bit of a relief, sometimes, even though Zabuza will never say as much. He’s been keeping an eye on Haku since the kid was five, and Zabuza himself was sixteen. Zabuza’s never going to regret something like that, but—

Eleven years now, and Zabuza’s never had much time to himself. Not having to take care of someone else for the night, no matter how self-sufficient Haku is, is a blessing sometimes. 

It’s a dark night, moonless, and the streetlights in their neighborhood are sketchy at best, so Zabuza leaves the station to heavy shadows, shuttered shops, and a distinct lack of people on the street. There’s a biting wind picking up, and Zabuza’s jacket has been patched enough times that it doesn’t do a hell of a lot to keep out the cold. He grimaces, tugging the scarf Haku made him up over the bottom of his face, then tucks his hands deeper into his pockets. Considers leaving early tomorrow, maybe trying to find something better at a thrift store along his route, but then remembers that Haku’s tuition is coming due, as is the rent. 

The private school is a hell of a lot more expensive than Zabuza would like, but when Haku had applied, won a partial scholarship, seemed so delighted—well. It wasn’t like Zabuza was going to say no, and it’s a good school. It means figuring out some ways to cut costs, is all, and after the way he grew up Zabuza is good enough at that to make it work. He’ll just wear another layer, maybe see if he can’t pick up one of the side jobs that comes along with being part of Gato’s operation. Nothing savory, but Zabuza is a thug. He’s got a price tag, and he’s fully aware of that. It can’t be much worse than the debt collection Gato has him on right now, after all. 

Grimacing, Zabuza rubs a hand over his hair, then turns onto one of the narrow alleys that cuts behind a curry shop and through the back lot of a grocery store. None of it is lighted, but Zabuza’s eyes are decent in the dark, and besides that, he knows the way by now. He and Haku have been in the neighborhood for almost a year, and Zabuza’s usually the biggest, meanest thing on the streets at this hour. At least as far as humans go.   
He’s ten steps into the shadows of the trees edging the lot when he realizes his mistake. 

There’s suddenly an edge to the cold tonight that’s deeper than normal, curls around Zabuza’s bones and _bites,_ and the gust of his breath is thick and white in the instant before the breeze steals it. The wind is picking up, and in the city’s hush Zabuza can hear it howl down the urban canyons as it comes. No moon, no stars, and the shadows around him _swarm,_ inky-black and infinite. 

Zabuza takes two steps back, but it’s too late. 

A spot of brightness kindles, another. Eyes, reflecting light from nowhere, glowing with a predatory blue shine, and Zabuza goes still, tense in his tracks. Stares back, unwilling to give ground when it might mark him as prey, and wonders at his chances of drawing the blade that lives beneath his skin. Slim, he suspects; magic is a threat, and any creature that lives in the dark and cold like this is going to take it as such. 

The street doesn’t offer much light, but—some. Some, and with most creatures like this, that’s enough. 

Of course, reaching that light is another matter entirely. 

Carefully, deliberately, Zabuza shifts. Not quite a step, not quite moving backwards, but instantly there’s a low growl that vibrates through the air. Zabuza’s heartbeat picks up before he can help himself, and he goes still again, hardly breathing. 

A pad of paws, a scuff, and the creature slinks out of the shadows one step. It’s a massive thing, grey fur and glowing eyes and teeth as long as Zabuza’s hand is wide, and it takes all his self-control not to turn and bolt. The cold air swirls, crackles like lightning, and Zabuza breathes in the tang of ozone and holds his ground even as the beast drops like it’s about to spring. 

And then, sharp, loud, there’s a footstep on the pavement. With a buzz of electricity, a light comes on in the grocery store lot, sending shadows billowing back to the edges. The beast _snarls,_ wrenches around—

Stops, as if startled. Straightens up, head cocked like a true wolf instead of whatever nightmare creature it really is, and takes one pace back. 

“Surely,” a sharp voice says, “there are better places to choose your prey, Sakumo.”

The creature’s ears go down, and it bares its teeth, but it turns, too. Turns and shifts, and it’s as if it slides back into the deepest parts of the shadows and is gone as simply as that. Zabuza stares after it for a long moment, trying to rein in the pace of his pulse, and then looks towards the light. 

Tobirama is approaching with easy strides, in no hurry, completely unconcerned. There’s a faint smirk on his face, amusement mixed with interest, and he pauses three paces from Zabuza with the wind swirling his coat around his knees. It’s still cold, Zabuza realizes belatedly, something entirely unlike the chill when Haku uses his power. This isn’t snow and ice—it’s the cold of deep water, of a grave, and it makes Zabuza’s skin prickle with some instinctive, animal-brain warning. 

“You must excuse Sakumo,” Tobirama says, and red eyes flicker over Zabuza’s face, then down over his body. Assessment, or maybe checking for more curses. “The Hatake hunting grounds have been expanding, and he doesn’t yet respect the boundaries others have set.”

Zabuza’s breath slides out on a rough exhale, and he finally lets himself shift back, loosening his fists. “What’s a bit of eating people between friends?” he mutters, and it feels like Kubikiribōchō is pressing up against his skin from the inside, ready to cut. Zabuza quiets it with a though, not about to draw one of the ocean’s sacred blades here and now, with no threat present. 

Well. Only one threat, but if Tobirama wanted him dead he could have done it by now. 

Tobirama snorts. “If you’re too blatant about that power, he won’t eat you,” he says dryly. “He’ll take you for a bride.”

Zabuza pulls a face, aware of the practice. “Then he can buy me dinner first like any other asshole,” he says, and Tobirama smiles, just faintly. 

“Bravado,” he says, halfway to a warning for all that it’s light, and closes half the distance between them, studying Zabuza with his head tipped a little. He’s a good four inches shorter, looks entirely at ease, but—

Zabuza thinks of the way the wolf creature froze at the sound of his voice, and wonders if it was the presence of the light or something else entirely that sent him running. 

“Most people can’t feel a damn thing about me,” he says instead of asking, because he can tell he won’t get an answer. The fact that Tobirama can feel Kubikiribōchō's presence is interesting enough, anyway. Zabuza wasn’t born with any sort of talent beyond an affinity for mist and water, and that’s common enough that it should barely register. His sword, though—most people wouldn’t even be able to tell it existed, let alone link it to Zabuza.

“I’m sure they can’t,” Tobirama says, dismissive. Arrogant, but he’s still watching Zabuza thoughtfully. “Your son isn’t with you tonight?”

“Staying with friends. He’s got a test to study for.” Zabuza watches him in return, wondering what the hell this is about. Wondering why Tobirama thought to step in to protect him in the first place. People disappear all the time in the city, get taken, get _eaten._ One of the risks of not being the biggest predators in the food chain, even if it’s not enough to stop humans from building their cities and living like they are. And—he got the sense from Tobirama in the library that he didn’t quite care. Not in a cruel way, but—disinterested. Cold. Unconcerned with smaller things, up to and including other people’s lives. 

“Thanks,” he says, because regardless of what Tobirama is or what his intentions are, he did probably save Zabuza’s life. At the very least, keeping him from having to draw his sword gave him a few more months of safety here before he really has to start worrying about Kiri. 

Tobirama inclines his head, a precise tilt even though his eyes never leave Zabuza. “You haven’t been at the library recently,” he says. 

Zabuza blinks, startled. “Yeah, Haku and I meet there when I get off work early,” he says. “Hasn’t happened recently. He can handle getting himself home, though.”

Accepting that with a quiet hum, Tobirama turns, raises his eyes towards the dark sky above them. Pauses there for a moment, and then says, “Keep to the main streets. Sakumo has a son who hunts nearby as well, and a man like you would make a tempting target.”

Behind them, something rustles the bushes, and Zabuza twitches, spinning to look. There’s nothing visible, though, just empty alley and looming, shadowed trees, and he takes a breath and turns back—

Tobirama is gone, and the street is empty.

  
“Tobirama is upstairs,” Haku says when Zabuza leans into the horticulture room. He’s seated on the floor with his back to one of the shelves, and Naruto is sprawled out beside him, head on Haku’s knee as he snores. Zabuza raises an eyebrow at the image they make, though he’ll admit to a flicker of amusement at the sight. Naruto’s a loudmouthed brat, but he’s fond of Haku, and Zabuza can’t fault him for that. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who was about to take his hand off last time?”

Haku doesn’t roll his eyes at him, but only because he pretends to be well-mannered in public. “He removed the curse you missed. Even if he did it rudely.”

Zabuza snorts. “I get the feeling most of what he does is rude.”

Tellingly, Haku doesn’t argue. Instead, he pointedly turns a page in his book and says, “He was asking after you.”

Zabuza _knows_ he told Haku about the people-eating monster practically tucking its tail and bolting when Tobirama showed up. He stares at his kid for a long moment, then huffs and steps away from the door. “Upstairs, you said?”

There’s victory in Haku’s smile, the smug little brat. “Yes. I just want to finish this chapter and I’ll be done.”

“You’d better be. I want to get to bed before midnight,” Zabuza says, and then pauses, considering the wrought iron staircase. “Any idea what he’s all about?”

Haku pauses for a long moment. “You mean whether he’s human or not?” he says quietly, smoothing his fingers over Naruto’s bright hair. “I’m not sure. Maybe he’s just…very talented.”

Zabuza’s met people who were _very talented._ A couple of them almost knocked his head clear off his shoulders. Tobirama feels like something different, though he’s not entirely sure what. And if Haku doesn’t know, the odds of finding out are probably slim. 

“One chapter,” he warns, knowing it’s futile, and heads for the stairs. Like before, the third story is entirely unoccupied, and Zabuza has to cast around for a long moment before he catches the faint rustle of paper in a distant corner. There’s a small reading area set up by the window, armchairs and a loveseat arranged on a plush carpet, and sitting in the sunlight is Tobirama, a book propped open on his bent knee, and a stack of other books on the floor beside him. 

He doesn’t look up as Zabuza approaches, but he points at the small coffee table between the chairs and says, “If the use of swords in rituals interests you, I would recommend Mito’s volume on Uzushio and their metalworking rituals. I believe it has close ties to the creation of spelled blades in other cultures.”

The book is thick, and feels warm to the touch when Zabuza picks it up. His skin prickles faintly, and when he opens it it’s easy to see why: this isn’t just a book _on_ rituals, it’s a book _of_ rituals, laid out in neat, comprehensive fashion. 

For a long moment, Zabuza stares down at them, not quite able to register the words. It’s been—years, almost a decade since he last worked a forge. Kiri’s economic crunch meant that blacksmithing work was hard to come by, and Zabuza had finished his apprenticeship and immediately moved on to careers that would guarantee he and Haku could eat. Killing people for pay was always profitable, after all, and came with the added bonus of status, and the freedom to use Kubikiribōchō as it was meant to be used. 

This almost makes him want to pick up the habit again. 

“Forging cold iron is a valuable skill,” Tobirama says, and when Zabuza glances up, it’s right into his steady, intent gaze, heavy enough to send a shiver down Zabuza’s spine. 

Swallowing takes effort. “Not so much anymore,” he says, and closes the book. Realizes, belatedly, that there are no library stickers, and doesn’t put it down, but tucks it under his arm. Refusing a gift is bad manners for a lot of things, and Zabuza knows better than to risk it beneath the watchful pressure of the library’s presence. 

Tobirama makes a derisive sound. “People are fools,” he says disdainfully, and sweeps another look over Zabuza. “Have you been keeping to lighted areas after nightfall?”

“Whenever I can,” Zabuza says with a snort, and sprawls in one of the unoccupied chairs with a sigh of relief. He’s been on his feet for too many hours at this point. “My boss doesn’t tend to be impressed by paranoia, though.” When Tobirama opens his mouth, a scowl twisting his features,

Zabuza just shrugs. “Yeah, paranoia keeps you alive. But he’s fine with losing a few men if he can pocket some easy cash.”

Tobirama’s nose wrinkles. “The lowest form of scum,” is his verdict, and he sets his book aside, turning his full attention on Zabuza. “Your accent—you’re from Water Country.”

It’s not a question, and Zabuza stiffens faintly. There’s not a hell of a lot of hiding that kind of thing, but even so, someone addressing it directly puts his hackles up. “What about it?” he asks, and can almost feel the heaviness of Kubikiribōchō's hilt in his palm as the sword surfaces like an orca, with just as much hungry intent. 

The half-smirk that answers him is dangerous, but intriguing. Maybe dangerous _because_ it’s intriguing. Zabuza’s never been overly sensible about that kind of shit. “Beyond the other power you carry, you have a gift for water. You’re ocean-born.”

It’s been a hell of a long time since that term was common, and Zabuza eyes Tobirama for a long moment, wondering what century he’s supposed to be from. Or maybe he just reads too many old books. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know who my mother was, let alone where she had me.”

Tobirama frowns, like the answer is something displeasing. It lingers, even as he meets Zabuza’s eyes and says, “A useful talent, in a man of your occupation.”

Zabuza doesn’t react, doesn’t even blink. “Yeah?” he drawls. “And what occupation would that be?”

At that, Tobirama actually snorts, and the frown shifts into a smirk. He rises to his feet, collecting his books, and says, “Your bravado continues to be unnecessary. You smell of blood and mist, and anyone who can’t sense as much is blind.”

“Then I guess most of the world’s blind,” Zabuza says, watching him closely. Tobirama doesn’t seem like he’s about to run to the cops, though. 

“Precisely,” Tobirama says coolly. “Be grateful that you are not.” And then he’s gone, vanishing back into the shelves. 

Zabuza waits, listening for the sound of steps on the iron stairs, but can’t hear anyone, and when he finally gets up and goes to find Haku, there’s no sign that Tobirama was ever present at all.

  
Work has been going badly for months, and then it goes _worse._

Gato is an asshole. Zabuza’s always known that, went in with both eyes open and a need for money that wouldn’t let him say no. And Gatos’s a coward, so he’d been sure that he could hold his own with the would-be kingpin, more than capable of chewing up both of Gato’s bodyguards and spitting them out. 

He just hadn’t counted on Gato figuring out what Zabuza is running from. 

Zabuza stares down at the man, bleeding all over the floor of the office, and his hands itch for his sword, for a curse that will put the shithead down for a month. “You _what,”_ he growls, and Gato doesn’t even have the sense to flinch. 

“I contacted several sources in Kiri,” he says, leaning back in his chair, and that smirk makes Zabuza want to strip the skin off his face. “How exciting, that we’re employing a celebrity. Not many people manage to survive assassination attempts on minor gods.”

Old, tired fear curdles in Zabuza’s gut, makes his next inhale shake. There’s no way that the Swordsmen will miss questions about Zabuza. No way that Gato didn’t realize that and contact those sources of his just for that reason. Getting out of having to pass out another paycheck, Zabuza thinks, and can’t tell if the feeling in his chest is numbness or rage. 

The Swordsman know he’s in Konoha. That means he has _maybe_ a few hours before Kisame turns up to collect him. Or to collect Kubikiribōchō from his corpse—Kisame’s never been a picky one. 

“So you figured out I tried to stab a god in the face and decided to double-cross me,” Zabuza says, and laughs, all bloody edges and incredulity. “What the _fuck_ made you think that was a good idea?” 

Gato doesn’t move, and if he blinks, Zabuza can’t tell behind those stupid dark glasses. At his elbows, his two low-class thugs set their hands on their weapons, but Zabuza gives them a dark look and doesn’t waver. At least he’s a high-class thug, with standards and a price tag to match. He knows his own worth as a tool. 

“Exactly that,” Gato says coolly. “You _tried,_ and you failed. It’s always tragic when a poor mercenary gives himself airs.” Pauses, and smiles, small and smug. It doesn’t look anywhere close to as good on him as it does on Tobirama. “Perhaps now would be a good time to renegotiate our contract, Momochi.”

Zabuza chuckles, turns his hand. A flicker of dark steel casts a dart of light across Gato’s face, and Zabuza looks at Zori, at Waraji. They’re both too far away to stop him. 

“Well,” he says thinly, furiously, amusedly. “I guess if you already called Kiri, I don’t have anything to lose.”

Gato stiffens, but it’s too late. Kubikiribōchō surges out from under Zabuza’s skin in a wash of magic as stormy and vicious as the sea, and it takes off Waraji’s head in one stroke. Zori shouts, leaping forward, but Zabuza kicks him out of the air, whirls, brings the massive blade down with a snarl, and cleaves him right across the chest. Blood flies, splattering Gato’s suit as he recoils, grabbing for a small paperweight on his desk. The shimmer of a charm activating catches him half an instant before Zabuza can, and he disappears like a heat haze. 

“Shit,” Zabuza mutters, straightening. He flicks the blood off Kubikiribōchō’s blade, then turns and heads for the door. That was a charm that wouldn’t have allowed for much distance; it’s more a last-minute escape than anything, if Zabuza recognizes it correctly. The fact that Gato has it is already more than Zabuza expected from him, and he’s not about to bet there are a lot of long-term strategies in play here. 

And, as expected, Gato is just scrambling down the stairs when Zabuza gets there. The kingpin bursts through another door, and Zabuza hears his shout, hears the loud voices and cries as his men react. It sounds like there are a lot of them, more than are usually here, but Zabuza doesn’t give a damn. There’s fury thrumming through his veins, rising like a tidal surge, and he brings Kubikiribōchō around, at the ready, as the first man bursts into view in the doorway. Zabuza meets him with a laugh, Kubikiribōchō swinging, and drives through the doorway in a spray of blood, aiming for where Gato has pressed himself up against the back wall of the room. 

The first hex hits hard as Zabuza is caught in a knot of three other men. It’s nothing strong enough to trigger the city’s wards, nothing that will get the police called on them all at once, but it snarls across Zabuza’s skin, makes his limbs jerk and twitch as his muscles spasm. He growls, shouldering the closest man out of the way, shoving the next down, and shakes it off. Straightens, doesn’t let himself stagger, and tries to reach for water. The sink on the wall rattles, pipes shuddering, but none comes, and Zabuza curses as he cuts down another thug. The score of a blade across his chest burns, but he ignores it, ignores the knife that stabs into the meat of his shoulder from behind. Kills the offenders with one strong stroke of his sword, and pushes past their bodies—

His breath gusts out on a cloud of white ice crystals as the temperature drops. Not the wet cold of Haku’s magic rising, but something darker, heavier. This is midwinter grave dirt, a body on ice with staring eyes and not a trace of life left. Beside Zabuza, there’s a flicker like lightning out at sea, and without warning Tobirama is beside him, and every last man in the room who’s standing between Zabuza and Gato drops like their souls have been wrenched out of them. 

Zabuza staggers a step, reaches down to wrench the knife out of his thigh. Cold hands catch his arm, holding him up, and Tobirama murmurs, “Brace yourself,” half a second before the dagger in Zabuza’s back is pulled free. With a hiss, Zabuza closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and then straightens. 

“Your timing is fucking fantastic,” he tells Tobirama. “But I feel like two times is the start of a pattern.”

Tobirama’s mouth quirks. “That would depend,” he says, “on how much trouble you plan to get into.”

Right. Because the day’s not over yet. Zabuza grimaces, but turns his attention to Gato, who’s flattened himself to the wall like he’s trying to fuse himself with it. “Are we talking trouble with the law?” he asks, unimpressed, and brings Kubikiribōchō up, braced across his body. “Because I’m about to commit murder, and if you try to stop me, I’ll kill you too.”

Tobirama snorts, looking down his nose at the kingpin. “Proceed,” he says, bored. “Your employer, I assume?”

_“Former,”_ Zabuza says, and grins, bloodthirsty and furious, as he advances.

  
“More hexes?” Tobirama asks, amused, and digs his fingertips into the muscle of Zabuza’s back. Zabuza gasps, but doesn’t fight the sharp wrench that is Tobirama pulling the hex free, just stays slumped where he is against the wall. A moment later, a softer touch slides over the spot, and Zabuza closes his eyes and makes a sound of thanks. 

“Shitheads didn’t have a decent caster in the whole organization,” he says dismissively, and looks at Tobirama, taking in the differences from all the times he’s seen him before. Not casual business clothes, but a dark blue tunic, a sword, a crown of bare white branches and holly berries like bloody bones on his head. He’s watching Zabuza in return, slyly amused, and when Zabuza meets his eyes, he smirks. It’s a challenge, a dare. 

Zabuza’s never in his life backed down from something like that, and he laughs, leaning in. “Bit fancy for a librarian,” he says, pointed. 

Tobirama snorts, all knife-edged humor. “I’ve never claimed to be a librarian,” he says, and his fingers tighten faintly over Zabuza’s back. “You are unemployed now?”

That’s hardly the worst of it. Zabuza grimaces, but the reminder is enough to get him moving. He pushes upright, stepping away despite the relief in Tobirama’s cool touch. “The fucker sold me out,” he says, and doesn’t look back at Gato’s mangled body. “I need to get Haku and skip town. Bunch of assholes are looking for me, and they won’t take _fuck off_ as an answer.”

Tobirama frowns faintly, but he follows Zabuza through Gato’s building and out onto the street. “You are being hunted?” he says, sharp. 

“Yeah,” Zabuza says, and snorts. “Shit, if Kisame isn’t here by now, he’s losing his touch.”

The frown Tobirama’s wearing deepens, and he reaches out, catches Zabuza’s elbow again. “Hang on,” he orders curtly, and Zabuza doesn’t even have time to open his mouth to ask why. The world _twists,_ goes black, goes _bright,_ and he staggers as his feet hit the pavement somewhere else entirely. Somewhere _familiar,_ and Zabuza blinks up at Haku’s school looming above them, then looks over at Tobirama in bewilderment. That wasn’t some kind of transportation charm, wasn’t human magic at all as far as Zabuza can tell. That was—

Impossibly heavy, abrasive power washes over them, and Zabuza stiffens. 

“Hey there!” Kisame says cheerfully. When Zabuza jerks around tot face him, he grins, showing shark-teeth, and takes one step closer before he comes to a stop. “You look like you’ve let yourself go, Zabuza.”

“Kisame,” Zabuza says shortly, and he’s not naïve enough to think the fact that they used to fuck will do anything to make this go easier. That’s not the kind of person Kisame is. “I heard you caught yourself a dolphin ‘shifter.”

Kisame chuckles, and the sight of Samehada in his hand is somehow less threatening than the way his grin gains even more teeth to it. “He’s pretty cute,” he agrees easily. His gaze darkens, a weighty thing, and he chuckles again, bringing Samehada up. “Mei wants you back, brat,” he says. 

Zabuza scowls at him. “Shut the hell up,” he snaps. “What, so she can string me up for trying to kill Yagura?”

Kisame just shrugs, though his grin doesn’t waver. “I didn’t ask, but you had to know what would happen.”

“He was _insane,”_ Zabuza retorts. “Like fuck I wasn’t going to try and take him out when I had the opportunity.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised that we’ve ended up here,” Kisame tells him, light, but the curl of his power is all violence. 

Bristling, Zabuza opens his mouth to call him a bastard, but before he can get the words out, a hand touches his shoulder, tightens. Tobirama pulls him back, stepping in front of him like he’s going to block Zabuza from sight, and says, “You will leave Konoha. Now.”

There’s a pause. Kisame stares at Tobirama for a long, long moment, head cocked, and then laughs a little. “Sorry,” he says, and it’s a threat even if it doesn’t seem like one. “Who were you again?”

Tobirama’s eyes are cold, cold as the grave-wind that rises around them, whipping Kisame’s coat and setting the trees flanking the school entrance to dancing. Dead leaves whirl around them, a late autumn veil, and Tobirama’s hand is chilled, strong as he slides it down to curl around Zabuza’s wrist. 

“I am king of the Unseelie Court,” he says coldly. “And you, spirit child, are threatening my chosen consort.”

Kisame’s eyes go wide, and it feels like Zabuza’s stomach turns over. He stiffens, and Tobirama’s thumb brushes over the pulse-point in his wrist, a light caress. 

“Oh,” Kisame says after a moment, and his gaze flickers over to Zabuza, slides back to Tobirama. He chuckles, but there’s a nervous note to it this time, and Samehada drops to rest on his shoulder. “Sorry, Your Majesty. We hadn’t heard.”

Tobirama inclines his head, accepting that as his due. “Leave Konoha and I will ignore the slight,” he says, cool, and very deliberately turns his back on Kisame, tugging Zabuza along with him. One step, and then Tobirama says over his shoulder, “Do not even think of harming the boy, or you will bring the wrath of my court and my brother’s court down upon you.”

Kisame stiffens faintly, but that flicker of magic rises, something biting and ocean-deep, and Tobirama pulls Zabuza forward into darkness, into light. They land in snow, ankle-deep and powdery, in the center of a winter forest. Above them, dark, twisted trees lean together, and between them are open courts, rooms with white walls and evergreens leaning over them. Fairy lights hang in the trees, and the breath that Zabuza takes tastes of deep winter on his tongue. 

“Forgive me,” Tobirama says, and steps away, turning to face Zabuza, and the absence of his touch is almost startling as his hand falls away. “I had meant to break it to you more gently.”

Zabuza casts an incredulous look around them, then levels it at Tobirama. “More _gently?_ That you decided to pick me as your _consort?”_

Tobirama sniffs. “I provided courting gifts. I won over your son. Soon I was intending to provide you with a suitable meal and inform you of my intent.”

Yeah, Zabuza _bets_ that’s what he was intending. The fey aren’t known for their straightforwardness, and the Unseelie _especially._ “Before or after I’d eaten enough faerie food to tie me to your world for a few weeks?” he asks dryly. 

With a soft snort, Tobirama steps close. The light trace of his fingers across Zabuza’s cheek is enough to make Zabuza shiver, and it’s mostly not from the cold. “I would only have kept you a few days,” he says softly. “Long enough to show you my intentions.” A flicker of something sly, something _hot,_ and he takes Zabuza’s hand, twisting their fingers together. Kisses Zabuza’s knuckles, a light brush of cool lips, and casts him a look that’s sharp with intent. “It’s been centuries since I last chose a consort. You and your son are welcome in my court, regardless of your answer, but a yes would please me greatly, Zabuza.”

“Fuck,” Zabuza mutters, and reaches out. Grabs Tobirama by the collar of his tunic, hauls him up, and kisses him hard. There’s a startled sound, then a huff of amusement, and long fingers bury themselves in Zabuza’s hair as Tobirama takes control of the kiss. He gentles it, eases it, and the slant of his mouth and the drag of his tongue is almost enough to make Zabuza weak at the knees. 

“Indeed,” Tobirama murmurs when he finally drags his mouth away, and he looks flushed, _hungry._ It makes Zabuza shiver, and Tobirama breathes something like a curse, stepping in and wrapping and arm around Zabuza’s waist. 

“Kagami,” he says, raising his voice, and there’s a flutter of wings high above them, a light thump. Zabuza can’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from Tobirama’s expression, but he catches a flicker of crow-feathers and red eyes, black armor traced with white. 

“Yes sir?” a bright, cheerful voice asks. 

There’s a faint roll of Tobirama’s eyes, and he glances over. “There’s a young snow spirit on the other side, and a sharkblood shapeshifter in the city. Guard the boy, and see to it that the shark leaves promptly.”

The grin that gets is dangerous, and the fey salutes, then leaps back into the sky, wings beating hard. Zabuza watches him go for a moment, then drops his eyes to find Tobirama’s gaze on him again. Lighter, softer this time, but still intent, and when cool fingers trace across Zabuza’s palm and up his wrist he doesn’t try to pull away. 

“Say yes,” Tobirama says, and presses a kiss to the center of Zabuza’s palm, where Kubikiribōchō’s mark is dark against his skin. “Be my knight. Be my consort, and you’ll never want for anything.”

Zabuza laughs, rough in his throat, and reels Tobirama in against him with a hand on his hip. “What if you’re the thing I want?” he challenges, meeting Tobirama’s eyes, and gets a sly slant of a smile in return. 

“As I said,” Tobirama murmurs. “You shall want for _nothing,_ because you will have me in excess.”

Zabuza has a smart remark about Tobirama having him instead on the tip of his tongue, but Tobirama’s next kiss steals the words, steals the thought, steals his very breath, and Zabuza isn’t in a hurry to get any of them back. 


End file.
